Humans Without Badges
by Mindy35
Summary: Elliot/Olivia. Post-ep for "Choreographed". Issues about their own relationship arise when Olivia and Elliot discuss Dani Beck.


Title: Humans Without Badges

Author: mindy35

Rating: K+, adult language

Disclaimer: Not mine, the Wolfman's.

Spoilers: thru' to beginning of s8.

Pairing(s): Elliot/Olivia, Elliot/Dani.

Summary: Post-ep for "Choreographed", (but little to do with the ep and more to do with Olivia's return). Issues about their own relationship arise when Olivia and Elliot discuss Dani Beck.

* * *

Their 4am feasts began after his separation and continued up until her reassignment. After which, Elliot would still occasionally find himself at the faded old diner, slumped in the brown leather booth over a plate of greasy food, his only companion a massive but mute milkshake. The early-morning meals had gradually become a private ritual, a tentative date they kept after each wrapped case. They were also one of the few times that work did not consume their conversation, that they were able to simply be friends, individuals, humans without badges.

After Olivia's first case back, they return to the diner with its ambient television noise and its never-changing menu. The reinstatement of their partnership hasn't been without contention. And both of them know that if they are to once again function as partners – if they are to get back to where they were, or better yet, move on to where they need to be – certain things must be said. Acknowledged out loud. And once and for all, put to rest.

"So you still drink strawberry milkshakes?" Elliot remarks as the waitress places a plate of greasy food and vat of frothy milk in front of her.

Opposite him in the booth, his partner shrugs and picks up the steel tumbler. "Only at four in the morning."

"Ah." Elliot nods and picks up his own chocolate filled tumbler. "So, I guess a welcome back toast is in order."

"Don't sound so happy about it," she mutters, one brow raised and one crumpled.

He hesitates, mouth opening and closing. "I…wasn't sure – you know? Whether to expect you back."

Olivia peers into the pink depths of her drink before lifting her eyes to his. "Wasn't sure I'd be back."

Their eyes hold for a moment then drop as they silently drink. They don't clunk their enormous shakes together – they forgo toasting her return and their reunion. Possibly because it doesn't feel like she's fully back. Not yet, not for good. Not until they deal with several months' worth of questions they've each mentally hoarded for the other. Paramount in Elliot's mind is where she's been all this time. Who she's been with. Whether she was in danger and had someone backing her up. Why she never contacted him and why she's come back now when he was just about to give up on her. He's still collecting these thoughts into a semi-comprehensible sentence though when Olivia gets in before him.

"Something happened," she murmurs, putting down her shake and fixing him with her familiar gaze. "With you and Dani Beck."

Elliot's taken aback. Stalling for time, he picks up his burger and takes a bite. Dusting off his fingers, he chews, swallows then washes down his food with chocolate milk. "S'that a question or a statement?"

Olivia averts her gaze. She glances about, not really seeing the TV propped above the bar or the meagre inhabitants of the diner or the waitress falling asleep on her Kafka. "I saw you together. You looked….comfortable."

His eyes narrow. "When was this?"

Her head shakes. "Doesn't matter. I did."

"We connected, yeah." He dips a fry in sauce and puts it in his mouth. "I'm not gonna apologize for that."

"So you liked her?" she asks, turning her attention to her own plate.

"Ye-ah…"

She picks up her burger, contemplates a bite. "You liked working with her."

"Already said I did."

"Then…" she mumbles round her mouthful, "you were sorry when she quit?"

"But not sorry when you came back."

She nods a few times, chewing thoughtfully before asking, "So that you could pursue something with her?"

Elliot sighs and scratches his brow. He feels like he's being interrogated by her. What's worse, he feels like he deserves to be interrogated by her. And much like most of the perps they question, the act he's tried so hard to justify, the guilt he's tried so desperately to repress is starting to creep in under the pressure she's putting on him. It's making him want to confess, accept his punishment and be absolved. If he expects answers to his own questions though, he supposes he must be prepared to give some. And in truth, it relieves him to admit this to someone – _to her_ – to simply and truthfully say:

"It was a drunken kiss, Liv, that's all. And Dani shut me down right after. Which was…pro'bly for the best."

His partner's questioning doesn't let up though. She tilts her head sideways, asking impassively, "Why's that?"

"Come on. The two of us…?" He shakes his head, leaning back in his seat and propping an arm on the shoulder of the booth. "Disaster waiting to happen. We'd both just lost everything. She'd lost her husband, I'd lost—"

"Your family," she interrupts dully. "I know, I was there for that bit."

He pauses, frowning at her. He can't believe how dense she can be sometimes, especially considering she's one of the shrewdest characters he's ever come across. Just as he can't understand why the two of them can be of one mind one minute while the next, their minds are off on completely separate trajectories.

"And _you_," he adds, voice insistent and eyes on her face. "One second, you were there and the next, you were just gone. Your desk was empty, your phone disconnected. After everything that'd happened…_you_— you were my anchor, the only thing keeping me in place." He grit his jaw, head shaking again. "I barely knew how to do my job without you backing me up."

"Seems like you figured it out," she mumbles into her shake.

"Yeah. I did," he says, refusing to let the half-delivered comment go unacknowledged. "But you know, I think half the reason I fell in with Dani so easily was…" he waves a hand at her, face beginning to heat with indignation, "cos she reminded me of you."

His partner looks up at him, a question in her eyes. And of course she's right – the similarity was not immediately apparent. Olivia and Dani were both good cops but in very different ways. They were both beautiful women, but again, in very different ways. They were both deeply wounded and fiercely independent. Suddenly enigmatic and perilously empathetic. And it was this mixture of strength and fragility that had made Elliot feel like he was on familiar ground. When Dani Beck tested him and tolerated him, when she supported him and trusted him, he felt like he was home again. When her eyes cried tearlessly at portraits of ruined childhoods, when she pulled all-nighters, surrounded by boxes of files and stale coffee stench, when she extended her arms over her head to relieve her tired muscles, he felt like he had his old partner back. Just for a moment. Though that moment quickly evaporated before his eyes.

"But she wasn't me," his partner says quietly.

"No," he murmurs, holding her steady gaze. "She wasn't."

A frown plays around her forehead. "Did you want her to be?"

Elliot draws his lower lip between his teeth as he flashes on that kiss – on the feeling of pulling his partner's body close to his, on the languid sensation spreading through his drunken bones as her mouth responded to his, on the relief and the guilt and the arousal. "…At what point?"

He returns to the present to see his partner studying his face. Maybe she can see where he's been, maybe she can guess and that's why she looks away. Taking a breath and holding it, Olivia pushes her plate to one side and plants her elbows on the table between them. "I've got to ask you something. It's just something I need to know, okay? And so help me, if you ask me what the hell I'm talking about or pretend like you don't know then I'll—"

"Just," he shoves his plate aside as well, "spit it out."

Olivia releases her held breath, her breathing becoming shallow and brisk. Her eyes drop to the tabletop and her head shakes very slightly. Something happens to the air around them, something strange that mutes and slows everything in preparation for what is about to be put into words and made reality. Eventually, the words emerge, the question that has dogged their relationship for much longer than the past few months.

"Why wasn't it me?"

The whispered words flip a switch in Elliot, propelling him forward in his _seat. _"It _woulda_ been you," he hisses, low and raw and rough, "but you walked out on me. Twice! Once for computer crimes and again to go play tree-hugger. And you did it after I told you – _I told you_ – I couldn't stand losing you too."

"I didn't choose—"

"Bullshit." Dropping back, he snatches up a paper napkin, balls it in his fist then throws it into his shake. This seems to calm him somewhat because when he speaks again, his voice has regained some of his formidable self-control. Although he cannot look at her when he goes on to confess, "God, Olivia, do you honestly think you weren't my first thought when Kathy left me, when those divorce papers arrived in the mail?"

Olivia remains frozen in place, cheeks red and expression stunned. "You— never…said anything, did…anything."

Elliot meets her gaze, his voice spending the last of its urgency in telling her, "I just needed time. I needed for us…to be _us_."

Her gaze drops, one shoulder shrugs weakly. "I thought you needed space."

"You thought _you_ needed space."

"We were too close, El."

"Jesus…!" He releases the frustrated curse as he retreats again in the booth. His body shifts like an innocent man in a jail cell until it finds a small space to settle in. And when he goes on, there's a bitter edge to his tone. "You know – Dani opened up to me about her husband's death after we'd been together about a month."

Olivia's eyes lift, her brow furrows. "Your point?"

"It took you almost twelve months to tell me about your mom. And I know," he raises a hand and wags his head, "it's a sensitive subject for you. But at what point were you planning on letting me the rest of the way in?"

"This isn't about me." Her eyes flash and her voice lowers, both ominous signs Elliot doesn't heed on his honesty binge.

"Sure it is," he responds, swift and merciless. "I got single and you got spooked. After seven years, something was actually gonna be possible and you vanished off the face of the earth. _You_ bailed."

"And _you _went and slept with another woman—"

"I didn't sleep with Dani."

"You know what—" Olivia scuttles sideways out of the booth, pulling out her wallet and dropping a few notes on the countertop, "I was wrong. I don't need to hear any of this. We're done."

Elliot fumbles for his own wallet as she heads for the exit. But as he slides out of the booth, he jostles the table and spills the remains of her shake. The pink goo drools lethargically over the tabletop, coating their unfinished meals and spreading onto the brown leather seats. The commotion recalls the attention of their waitress who rushes over with a wet cloth. Elliot rescues the bills Olivia dropped, adds some of his own and thrusts them into the waitresses' free hand. Then, grabbing a clutch of napkins, he sponges off his jeans before rushing out of the sleepy joint in pursuit of his partner.

The door rattles on its hinges as he pushes through it. Glancing one way then the other, he spots Olivia standing further down the street, between the trunk and the nose of a pair of parked cars. Her back is straight, her chin held high and one arm is raised to hail an approaching cab. Elliot waits until the cab flies by her, not wanting his words to be lost in the noise.

"So you just gonna bolt now?" he calls out as he strides towards her. "Shut down on me? Big surprise!" He stops when he's within appropriate arguing distance – a precise measurement that being a NYC cop has taught him. He refuses to move any closer because she might pick up on the panic he feels at the possibility of her leaving his life again. Instead, Elliot just spreads his arms and drops them back to his sides in a gesture of exasperation. "Classic Olivia Benson."

"Like you can talk," she calls back, hand waving at him then re-raising in time to snag the next cab, "the king of emotional denial over here."

"If I'm the king then you're the queen."

"Oh, screw you."

"No, screw you!" he barks, turning his back as the cab pulls up to collect her. "I don't know what you even came back for."

She yanks open the door, snapping over her shoulder, "Beats me!"

He's barely made it three steps away from her though when he abruptly reconsiders, turning and jogging back to her. "Hey. Hey—!" He inserts himself between her body and the open car door, blocking her exit and panting in her face as he demands, "Why _did_ you come back? Huh? Why come back now?"

"Fuck knows," she mumbles, trying her best to dodge him.

"Come on," he presses, dipping his head this way and that in an attempt to capture her elusive gaze. "You can do better than that—" He steps out of the open door, slams it then pats the roof of the car, telling the driver to: "_Scram!_"

Deprived of her escape route, Olivia closes her eyes, doubles up this coverage with one hand and turns in an aimless circle on the road. Her eyes are startled open though when the parked car behind her toots its desire to move. Elliot takes her elbow, whisks her off the road and onto the pavement. His hand doesn't drop though, it stays where it is, loosely grasping her elbow. He doesn't want to release her, couldn't stand to be left – not again, not by her. Shuffling closer, he lowers his voice and watches the wind disturb the long hair he is still not used to seeing her with.

"Why, Liv, huh? _Tell me_. Why're you here?"

"Because—" she half turns away then faces him again, eyes finally meeting his with unguarded honesty, "because _you're my_ anchor. Okay? Because…" she sighs tiredly, head shaking in defeat, "because what the hell does either of us have if we don't have each other?"

His head mimics the movement of hers. "Nothing," he whispers, "Nothing…." Then, he reaches for her, tries to draw her closer. "Come 'ere..."

Her shoulders hunch, her face turns, her hands come up between them. "Don't—"

"Come," he insists, catching one wrist and infusing it with his own certainty.

She relents unwillingly, only relaxing into the embrace once she's in it. Initially, her face is smooshed against his sweater, her half-hearted hands grasp his clothes but not his body. "Sorry…" Olivia murmurs after a moment in which all he does is hold her. She adjusts her face so her cheek is flat against his chest. Her arms reach around him and grip his back. "I—"

"Don't," he stops her. "Don't even." He probably owes her an apology in return – he probably owes her several – but it all seems inconsequential now. Now that the truth has been uttered, now that his arms are around her and his hands are keeping her close. Now that he is starting to believe that he can let her go and be certain of her return. Feeling a smile coming on, Elliot adjusts his face against her hair, finding her ear with his lips. "You know I love you, right?"

It's said casually, with more like a _ya_ than a _you_. But he feels the effect of it vibrate through her body. He feels her stiffen and panic and wonder and throb – just a little, just quietly. He feels her almost pull back but stop herself. It's meant as an apology, a conclusion, a remark that conveys affection without connotation. Connotation is where their relationship lives though and those three simple words hovering between them cannot help but evoke more than friendship, more than partnership, much more than a mere truce. Especially since their experience of such words is so inadequate.

Olivia didn't have anyone in her life telling her she was loved. The person who was supposed to love her most was also the person who'd wounded her most. She and Serena were only just getting to the _I love you_ stage and had exchanged the words only once before her untimely death. Elliot, on the other hand, had said the words so many times that they'd lost all meaning. They'd become synonymous with goodbye, they covered up numerous grudges, they were an easy way out of an argument, they were a statement of fact taken for granted. Not that he used the phrase excessively. He tended to prefer showing to telling. And in fact, he hadn't uttered the words since well before the breakdown of his marriage, not even to his kids.

Still, even kings and queens of denial must cave to convention sometimes.

Pulling back, Elliot holds her shoulders and looks at her, a small, thoughtful smile on his lips. Her eyes meet his uncertainly and somewhere off in the distance, a clock chimes six times. He lifts a hand, intending to touch her face but he loses his nerve and ends up hailing an oncoming cab instead. It pulls up with a soft screech and they walk toward it silently. Maybe they've both said enough for one night – maybe they've said too much – because neither says another word as Olivia gets in the cab, as Elliot closes the door, as she looks through the window at him before the cab takes off. It is only after the cab has cleared the curb, after her partner has disappeared from her vision, that Olivia breaks her silence.

Letting out a breath, her head falls back against the seat and her eyes close over. And in belated reply to her partner, she whispers, ".…I love you too."

_END._


End file.
